


Archery Lessons

by lindirs_gaze



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: I think there's also archery somewhere in there, M/M, Pining, Sexual Tension, bilbo is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 10:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18281378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindirs_gaze/pseuds/lindirs_gaze
Summary: Thorin offers to teach Bilbo how to use a bow, which leads to quite a bit of awkwardness on Bilbo's part.





	Archery Lessons

Bilbo was in the middle of exploring Erebor when he thought he heard the sounds of a battle.

A chill swept over him. That couldn’t be right. The Battle of the Five Armies had been nearly a year ago, and the lands between Erebor and Dale had been at peace ever since. He crept towards the tall doorway from which the shouts and clashes of steel were echoing. Even after all this time, there were still parts of the kingdom that he had not discovered yet. Perhaps this was one of Erebor’s many secrets that Thorin had forgotten to boast about.

The large hall at the other end of the doorway did not, in fact, contain a battle. It was a large, open space with a high ceiling that left plenty of space for the noise to echo. At the far end of the room were a number of training dummies, and at the closer end were a row of targets for archery. Off to one side were a group of dwarves in full armor doing a number of exercises, which he supposed were part of restoring Erebor’s army.

Breathing a small sigh of relief, Bilbo moved further into the hall, glancing back towards the practicing archers. He spotted Kíli’s unruly brown hair in the middle of the row and headed over to the side, where he would be able to watch.

There were a few spectators already there, and Bilbo recognized Thorin among them. He was standing with his arms crossed, looking regal as ever. As Bilbo approached, he turned and unfolded his arms with a smile.

“Bilbo. I see you’ve found the training hall.”

“I have, though I wasn’t sure what to make of all this shouting and crashing when I first walked by,” he said, coming to a halt next to him.

“I know dwarves can be rather...aggressive when we fight, even if it is just training.” As if to prove a point, one of the dwarves threw a small axe at the target with a roar, nearly splitting the thing in half. Bilbo jumped slightly at the noise, and Thorin put a hand on his shoulder. “I promise this place is perfectly safe.”

His skin tingled at the weight of Thorin’s hand on his shoulder. “Well, I-I’m glad to hear that. And how is Kíli doing?”

“Much better,” he said, removing his hand. Bilbo wondered if his touch had lingered slightly, or if he was just imagining things. “He’s been practicing almost every day since Óin gave him permission, so I doubt his skills have suffered much.”

Kíli had sustained an arm injury during the battle, but Bilbo could hardly tell as he watched the dwarf nock another arrow. “Is he planning on joining the army?”

“He would fight if there was to be another battle, but I don’t believe that’s why. Most dwarves tend not to use a bow. He takes pride in it,” he said with a smile.

“It seems like quite a useful skill to have,” Bilbo said. “I’ve wondered sometimes if I would be any good at it.” The only experience he had in aiming was conkers, though that was far less impressive than using a bow. Nori had offered a few times to teach him how to throw knives, but Bilbo had insisted that knives were for cutting vegetables, not tossing around.

“I could teach you,” Thorin said. “Kíli prefers the bow, but I have a few more decades of experience.”

“Really?” His eyes widened slightly. Thorin had never deigned to teach him about weaponry during the quest, and though he liked to think they were a bit closer now, he’d never expected such an offer.

“If it’s something you wish to learn, then I could give you lessons.”

Bilbo could have sworn he saw a bit of uncertainty in his expression as he waited for an answer, and it was partially this that led him to say, “All right. I suppose I could try it out.”

At this, Thorin nodded with a slight grin, and the sight sent a thrill of nerves through Bilbo’s stomach. He wasn’t quite sure why he would feel that way, since it was not the first time he had seen that handsome smile. But the thought of spending time with Thorin, perhaps alone, with those piercing blue eyes focused on his form, correcting his stance with steady hands…

He turned away, trying to dismiss the mental image as heat flared up his neck. It was no good fantasizing about such things. Their lesson would probably be just as rigorous as some of the sword training sessions he’d had with Dwalin, though hopefully he’d come out of it with a few less bruises.

Certainly, he had nothing to worry about.

* * *

 

The next day found Bilbo sitting on one of the benches off to the side, absently swinging his legs as he waited. The training grounds were mostly empty, as it was the middle of the day and most of Erebor’s inhabitants were working.

Across the room, a brown-haired dwarf was obliterating a dummy with a war hammer that most certainly weighed more than Bilbo. The crashing sounds helped count down the seconds somewhat, and he found his movements becoming more anxious. Thorin had said to meet him at noon, and that had been fifteen minutes ago.

It was entirely possible Thorin would not be coming at all. He was a king, after all, and there was no doubt he had more important things to do than teach a hobbit archery. Bilbo let out a small sigh as the dummy across the room finally gave in and crashed to the floor. There was no real need for him to learn how to use a bow, anyway. He was quite happy enough without it, and there were some people who went their whole lives without knowing how to use one. Perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be.

He stood up and made his way towards the large door that led out of the hall. At this hour, Bofur was probably having his midday tavern break. Perhaps he would head over to The Golden Ram and have an ale (or three) himself.

Bilbo was nearly at the door when the sound of heavy footsteps made him slow his pace. A moment later, Thorin rounded the corner, nearly walking right into him.

“Oh.” He took a step back, ears reddening in embarrassment, but Thorin spoke before he could come up with an excuse as to why he was leaving.

“I apologize for being so late. I was in a meeting, and Lord Hanar would not...stop talking.” He rolled his eyes briefly, prompting a grin from Bilbo. “I hope I am not keeping you from anything.”

“No, certainly not,” he said. “I was worried that I would be keeping  _ you _ from something. I know how busy you can be.”

“I can always make time for you, Bilbo. I’d much prefer your company to the members of the council, anyway.”

Bilbo was not sure how to respond to  _ that _ at all, besides giving an awkward, nervous laugh and trying to hide his blush.

They walked into a smaller room adjacent to the training grounds, where racks of weapons were stored along with some leather armor. The dwarf from before was replacing their war hammer. They gave a respectful nod to Thorin and left the room.

“We’ll need to get you an arm guard first,” Thorin said, striding over to where the armor was kept.

Bilbo followed, staring openly at the racks of spears that were longer than he was tall and the rows of swords that rather eerily resembled the teeth of a dragon. After spending so much time carrying nothing but a small sword, these weapons looked rather intimidating—and they were only the ones for  _ practice _ .

“This one might fit you,” Thorin said, holding up one of the arm guards. “Come here.”

He walked over and took the bracer, which was a long leather cuff with a couple straps to keep it in place. It was designed for a muscular dwarvish forearm, so he wasn’t sure how well it would fit on him, but he slid it over his sleeve anyway.

“What is this for, exactly?” Bilbo tried to buckle the first strap, but it was proving rather difficult with only one hand.

“To protect your arm. If you don’t shoot properly, the string could bruise you, or even break the skin.” Thorin noticed him struggling and reached over to help him.

“I didn’t realize archery could be so dangerous.” He lowered his arm once Thorin had finished and twisted it around, examining the bracer.

“Any weapon is dangerous if handled improperly.” Thorin reached over and selected his own arm guard. Bilbo watched in silence as he put it on, thick fingers moving with surprising deftness as he fastened the straps. “Shall we find you a bow, now?”

He nodded and reminded himself to stop staring.

There was only one rack of bows, as opposed to the many axes and swords in the room. They were all rather short compared to the long, slender ones he’d seen in the hands of elves. He wondered if this was due to the difference in height, or if dwarves had a different style of archery altogether.

Thorin selected one and tested the string with three fingers. He handed it to Bilbo. “Try to draw this one.”

“All right.” He wrapped three fingers around the string and pulled back. It was a good deal stiffer than he’d expected, and he could only draw it back a few inches before his strength failed him. He released the string, snapping it back in place with a  _ twang _ . “I thought these were supposed to be easy to draw back.”

“The more weight it has, the farther the arrow will go.” Thorin took the bow back, not looking surprised at all, and traded it for another one. He tested it and handed it to Bilbo.

This one was easier to draw, though he still had to put a bit of effort into it as he tried to copy the posture he had seen Kíli make many times before. Apparently, this was good enough for Thorin, who nodded and turned to grab a handful of arrows from a box next to the rack.

They walked back out into the training hall, which was still empty. Bilbo listened to the echo of Thorin’s footsteps in the large room and was torn between wishing someone would walk in and hoping they would have the space entirely to themselves.

They stopped a few dozen feet from one of the targets, and Thorin deposited the arrows in a raised iron ring attached to a short post in the floor.

“Let’s work on your stance first,” he said before Bilbo could reach for an arrow.

“Right.” He turned towards the target and tried drawing his bow again.

“Face sideways, not towards the target.” Thorin put both hands on his waist and gently turned him to the correct position. “This will also make you a smaller target if someone is firing back at you.”

“Good—” Bilbo stopped and cleared his throat as his voice came out in a squeak. He could feel the heat of Thorin’s palms through his shirt. “Good to know.”

He raised the bow again and drew it back. Thorin nudged his upper arm slightly, pushing his elbow higher. “Shoulders down. Relax your grip.”

Despite Thorin’s instructions, Bilbo found that he couldn’t so much as let out the breath he was holding. That first touch to his waist had ignited something within him, and now every point of contact afterwards sent little hot jolts down the length of his body. Having him so close, hearing the deep cadence of his voice, was  _ not _ helping in the slightest.

“All right.” Thorin took a small step back, and Bilbo lowered his bow. As the string returned to its original place, he felt some of the tension of the moment dissipate, leaving him with burning ears and a rapid pulse.

If Thorin noticed his internal crisis, he gave no sign of it. He slid one of the arrows from the metal ring and handed it to Bilbo. It looked like a regular arrow, with white fletching and a smooth wooden shaft, but the tip was blunt.

“Are you ready to try shooting?”

Bilbo nodded, hoping the movement didn’t seem too twitchy. The faster he got this lesson over with, the sooner he could go back home and splash some cold water on his face. He nocked the arrow and, without waiting for further instruction, loosed it. The arrow sailed across the hall and landed with a clatter just below the target, nearly scraping the bottom edge before it hit the ground.

He risked a glance at Thorin, whose eyebrows were raised in mild surprise. “Not bad.”

“I didn’t even hit the target,” he said with a slight, nervous laugh.

“It was still rather close for a first attempt. Not bad for a burglar,” he added, making Bilbo laugh for real this time.

When he reached for a second arrow, Thorin did not offer him any advice, but stood back and watched as Bilbo tried to correct his aim. This arrow soared over the target, striking the wall behind it.

“Well,” Bilbo lowered his bow, “this requires a good deal more precision than I’d thought.”

“Precision and practice. But you already have some talent with your aim.”

The third arrow went wide, landing closer to the next target over than the one he’d been aiming for. Bilbo lowered the bow and flexed his arm, which was tiring a little from pulling back the string.

“Your posture is off. Don’t arch your lower back so much.”

He shifted his weight a little, then looked down and made sure his feet were properly positioned again. It seemed there was a good amount of posing as well that went into this, and he wondered how archers were supposed to get anything done if they were always worried about the position of their bodies. “Like this?”

Thorin reached out, then paused. “May I?”

There it was—that small measure of doubt again, the same that had appeared on his face when he had first offered to teach Bilbo how to use a bow. As flustered as he was already, there was a part of him that  _ wanted _ to feel his touch again, even if only for a brief moment.

Bilbo nodded, and had to remind himself to breathe as Thorin put one hand on his back and the other on his hip, pressing gently to correct his posture. Even after he pulled away, a tingling warmth lingered in those places.

_ Oh, dear _ . He took a deep breath and reached for another arrow. When this was over, he was thinking of a cold bath.

* * *

 

Several days passed before Bilbo saw Thorin again. He went about his usual business—spending time with friends, browsing the market, tending to his tiny garden outside the mountain—but the memory of their training session lingered. In random moments, the curve of Thorin’s smile, the feeling of his closeness, or the pressure of his hand would come back to him.

Bilbo tried his best to keep these recollections, and the suggestive fantasies that often sprung from them, out of his head. He was lucky enough that Thorin had taken some time out of his busy day as  _ king _ to teach him how to use a bow. There was no sense in wishing for anything more.

Just when he thought he’d managed to set himself to rights once more, a messenger left a note by his door. Bilbo immediately recognized the handwriting, with its dramatic downward strokes and slanted shapes.

_ Bilbo, _

_ If the time is available to you, I would continue our lesson tomorrow at noon. Write to me if this time is not convenient for you. Otherwise, I look forward to seeing you then. _

_ Yours, _

_ Thorin _

His heart jumped a little at the closing, though he reminded himself that Thorin likely signed all his letters to friends this way. Bilbo ran one thumb over the signature at the bottom, then neatly folded the note and placed it on his desk.

* * *

“Bilbo? Hello? Bilbo!”

He jumped as a piece of hard cheese hit him in the side of the face, then turned to scowl at Bofur. “What on earth was that for?”

Across the table, the dwarf grinned at him, though there was tinge of concern in his expression. “And he returns to us at last! Where were you off to, just now?”

“What do you mean? I-I’m right here,” he replied, looking around. He, Bofur, Bombur, and Kíli, were sitting in The Golden Ram around a table laden with ales and various half-eaten plates of food.

“He’s asking what you were thinking about,” Bombur said, reaching for a piece of bread. “You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes.”

“Have I?” Bilbo took a sip of his ale, partially to give him a moment to compose himself. He  _ had _ been lost in thought, though of course he couldn’t tell any of the others what (or rather, who) he had been thinking about.

His second lesson with Thorin had gone...perhaps  _ well _ wasn’t the right word. He’d been rather preoccupied the whole time, either anticipating a slight touch from Thorin or considering taking an incorrect posture so that he would help him correct it. Overall, his aim hadn’t improved one bit, though Thorin hadn’t looked disappointed at all when he’d said that they could try again next week.

“I know that look,” Bofur said, bringing him back to the present. He leaned back in his chair and pointed his pipe stem at Bilbo. “There’s only one thing that could have you so distracted. You’re in love.”

“ _ What? _ ” His outburst caused a couple other patrons to glance at him, so Bilbo forcibly lowered his voice and said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Next to him, Kíli was looking at him with newfound interest. “Someone’s caught your eye?”

“No.” Bilbo took another gulp of ale, hoping it would hide some of the heat in his cheeks. “In fact, I was rather worried about my garden. The weather has been getting colder, and I don’t want the frost to kill any of my plants.”

“Some of the architects are working on a sort of indoor garden made of glass,” Bombur said. “If you’d like, I’ll let you know when that’s finished.”

“Thank you, Bombur. I would appreciate that very much.” Now, gardening was something he could talk about for a while, and hopefully long enough to distract Bofur from any thoughts about  _ love _ . “I was thinking—”

“So, I heard my uncle is giving you archery lessons,” Kíli interrupted. He had done this enough times that Bilbo had learned it wasn’t out of rudeness, but rather a youthful enthusiasm to get his thoughts out of his head.

“Um, yes.” He sincerely hoped Kíli thought of this as a new topic, and not a continuation of Bofur’s inquiries into his romantic life.

“How is that going?” He seemed only mildly curious, whereas Bofur was watching him closely over the rim of his mug.

“Well enough,” Bilbo said, trying to keep his tone casual. “I can’t say I’ve improved very much, but, um…”

Kíli nodded sympathetically. “Thorin can be rather intense at times. Especially when it comes to training.”

His heart jumped slightly at the word  _ intense _ . “Y-You mean strict?”

He nodded with a small laugh. “I remember this one afternoon, when I’d first decided to start learning how to use the bow…”

Bilbo sat back as Kíli launched into his story. All things considered, Thorin had not been  _ intense _ at all during their sessions. He was patient and encouraging, and never pushed Bilbo beyond what he wanted to do that day.

No, anything that could be described as  _ intense _ was all in his head.

Briefly, he considered asking Kíli to give him lessons instead. He could tell Thorin that he didn’t want to keep him too busy, and imply to Kíli that he wanted a less strict teacher. That would certainly help him focus more on learning how to use a bow.

Of course, that wasn’t really the point, was it? Bilbo did not plan on firing an arrow into a rabbit or deer at any point in his life. He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to use it against orcs or goblins.

No, it had never been about learning how to use a bow—that had been clear from the start.

Bilbo slumped down into his seat with a sigh and took another sip of his ale.

_ What have you gotten yourself into, Baggins? _

* * *

It was early evening, and the training grounds were empty except for the two of them.

Bilbo sometimes wondered if these lessons would be made better or worse if the hall was more crowded. He wasn’t sure if the presence of more people would make the session feel more or less intimate.

Today, his focus seemed to have fled him entirely. Thorin must have come straight from working at his desk rather than a meeting with the council, as he was not wearing his kingly robes. He only had on a simple but finely-made shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

As Thorin demonstrated with his bow the correct way to hold the string, Bilbo found that he was entirely focused on the shape of his forearms, the subtle way the muscles moved as he drew back the string once more…

“Does that make sense?” Thorin asked, bringing him back to the present.

“Um.” Bilbo realized he hadn’t heard a single word that he’d said. “Sorry, what?”

“Are you all right?” He frowned slightly. “You seem distracted today.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he replied, a little more tersely than he’d intended. He nocked an arrow and tried his best to copy Thorin’s demonstration of how to hold it.

In truth, he didn’t know how long he’d be able to continue like this. He wasn’t improving very much, and there was always the possibility that even Thorin’s seemingly endless patience would run out and he would write these lessons off as a pointless endeavor. While that would be a relief in a sense, a part of him did enjoy these scattered hours in which he’d get to spend time with Thorin.

He loosed his arrow, and it landed near the bottom of the target, in the second outer ring.  _ Not too bad _ . He turned to grab another one and aimed it at the target.

“Watch your stance,” Thorin said, pressing one hand lightly against his lower back.

The touch sent a spark straight up his spine. He gasped, and the arrow flew from his bow to strike the ground before it could make it even halfway to the target.

Thorin drew his hand away as though he’d been burned. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to startle you.” 

Bilbo was speechless for a moment, mortified that he’d reacted like that. He finally came to the conclusion that no, things could not go on like this, and said, “N-No, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

His frown returned, deeper this time. “Have I done something to upset you?”

“No, not at all! Quite the opposite, in fact. I mean...” Bilbo lowered his gaze, feeling heat blaze on his cheeks. “This is entirely a problem of my own making. It has nothing to do with you. That is, it has everything to do with you, but of course it has nothing to do with how  _ you _ are acting, but rather—”

“Bilbo.” Thorin reached out as though to calm him, but stopped himself. “Take a moment to gather your thoughts. What are you trying to tell me?”

He took a deep breath, feeling his nerves draw as tight as a bowstring. There was no conceivable way he could talk himself out of this one without telling the truth. “You,” he said, “are far too distracting.”

Thorin drew back, eyes widening slightly. Clearly, this was not what he had been expecting. “What?”

“Your…” He waved his hands in a haphazard manner, indicating Thorin’s entire body. “This. I-I can hardly focus when you’re standing so close a-and touching me, and I know it’s not your fault.” Thorin still looked as though he didn’t understand, so Bilbo threw caution to the wind and said, “You are terribly attractive, and I find it very distracting.”

Silence rang through the hall, making the ringing his ears even louder. Thorin had frozen entirely, staring at Bilbo with a rather dumbfounded expression.

Well, he had already begun, and figured he might as well finish what he had to say. “In fact, I confess I don’t have much interest in learning archery at all, but you were the one who offered to teach me, so…” He made a vague gesture as if to say,  _ Here we are _ .

Thorin continued staring at him in silent for several seconds. Just when Bilbo was about to inquire into the state of his health, a small smile crept onto his face. “You find me attractive?”

A stuttery laugh escaped him. “Well, how could anyone not?”

“I think you’ll find most of the people of Erebor would disagree with you on that,” Thorin said, a small measure of joy resonating beneath the solemness in his voice. “I am not considered handsome by dwarf standards.”

“Not by hobbit standards, either,” Bilbo said, nearly breathless. “But there’s something about you…”

He dropped the bow and reached out, hands cupping Thorin’s broad, muscular shoulders. He tensed for a moment, ready for the dwarf to push him away, but Thorin’s hands found his waist with equal hesitancy.

“So am I to assume,” Thorin said, pulling him closer, “that all this time you’d have preferred to ogle me instead of learning how to use a bow?” One brow raised in reprimand even as the corners of his lips lifted into a smile.

Bilbo felt an answering grin on his own face. “More than that, really.” He reached up to cup his cheeks, then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

Thorin responded almost immediately, his grip tightening into an embrace as he kissed him back. Feeling their chests pressed together, a pair of steady hands splayed against his back, Bilbo couldn’t help but break the kiss for a moment to let in a burning, gasping breath. He had only a short moment before Thorin was pulling him back in.

When they finally broke apart again, breathing hard, Bilbo kept his eyes closed for a moment, savoring the strange leftover tingle of Thorin’s beard against his skin. Thorin adjusted his grip enough for Bilbo to lower himself down from his toes.

“So am I to assume,” Thorin repeated, his cheeks carrying a handsome flush, “that you do not wish to continue our archery lessons?”

Bilbo smiled, lifting his fingers to card through a few locks of dark hair. “I’d rather have dinner with you. If you have time for that.”

“I’ll always make time for you, Bilbo. Whatever you may wish to do,” he added with a suggestive smirk, and Bilbo couldn’t help but lean up to kiss him again.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Insert archery-related sexual innuendos here.


End file.
